Page 65 of Cross the Line
We pose for pictures when the bottles are empty, then I’m being ushered off the podium and directed to get cleaned up before I’m needed for interviews. I can’t wipe the grin from my face – not that I’d want to – as I make my way through corridors and back to the motorhome, cheering with everyone I come across on the way. I want Willow to be one of them, but I still haven’t found her. She’s the first person I’ll seek out once things settle down. This win is hers too.
The adrenaline wanes as I make my way up the steps to my driver room. Mark trails after me, but after hugging him tight, I promise that he can work on me later. For now, I need a chance to sit and savour this alone.
I did it. I really fucking did it.
As he heads off, I open the door to my room – and promptly freeze.
The pictures catch my attention first. On the wall across from me is a collage of photos. Some are of me, some of fans wearing my number, some of my family at my karting races when I was a kid. Then there are the letters and posters, all handwritten, all cheering me on, all showing the sheer force of the belief these people have in me. There’s even a portrait of me, done in a modern style with flashy colours. My smile, of course, is the most prominent feature.
But it’s Willow kneeling below all of it, still setting things up, that has my heart beating harder than I ever thought it could.
She turns with wide eyes and a soft gasp when the door opens. The photo in her hand slips to the ground as she climbs to her feet, using the massage table next to her for leverage, but then she twists her fingers nervously in front of her.
‘I thought you’d be gone longer,’ she says, a slight waver in her voice and a hesitant smile. ‘It’s not done yet, but I . . . wanted to surprise you.’
My throat is tight, locking in the words I want to say. I’m dehydrated from the hot race, sure, but that’s not what’s rendered me speechless. This is all because of Willow.
‘You did all of this for me?’ I finally choke out, scanning the space, then settling my focus on her again. ‘What if I hadn’t won?’
‘I’ve had this planned for a while,’ she admits, still twisting her fingers, but her smile is growing. ‘This isn’t a shrine to your win or anything. I just wanted you to see how loved you are by so many people. I wanted to remind you of why you should keep fighting for what you want.’
I appreciate the sentiment, undoubtedly. But my reason to keep fighting is standing in front of me.
Maybe it’s the lingering adrenaline. Maybe it’s the recklessness that flows through my veins. Or maybe it’s the sight of her. But whatever it is, it sends me striding toward her before I can think twice.
I stop when we’re toe to toe. I’m so close she has to crane her neck to look up at me. Her gaze is uncertain but hopeful, like she’s prepared for me to let her down gently but wishing for more. I’ll give her whatever she wants.
‘I love it,’ I tell her, though theitis nearly ayou. ‘It’s perfect.’
She exhales, soft and a little unsteady. She opens her mouth like she wants to say something, but the words die on her tongue when I curl my hand around the back of her neck.
‘You’re perfect,’ I murmur.
I drop my gaze to her mouth, then flick it back up. When the look in her eyes goes from unsure to expectant, I don’t waste any more time. I’ve squandered enough of it already.
I kiss her.
CHAPTER 21
Willow
Dev’s lips on mine feels like a win of my own.
He did the hard work, yet I’m reaping the reward, even if it’s not the prize I anticipated. But this is absolutely what I want. What I’ve wanted for a long, long time.
So I kiss him back.
His tongue brushes mine, and my body hums in response. He tastes sweet, like the electrolyte drink he downs after every race, a hint of cherry and something else I can’t place. It’s a reminder of the feat he’s just pulled off, and a fresh wave of joy rolls over me.
He did it. He won. And he did it with an unreliable car and a team that doesn’t support him the way they should. It’s a victory he deserves to celebrate in any way he wants. And if it’s me he wants . . .
His stubble scrapes against my skin, and I sink my fingers into his sweat-damp hair to pull him closer. A groan rumbles low in his throat as he hauls me to him, hands firm on my waist, possessive, his touch nearly searing. I grip him tighter, holding him to me, possessive in my own right, not wanting to give this up.
Only, this can’t last. It was never meant to, as proven by the end date of our arrangement. And maybe this is part of that – a perk of the job. It, too, will end when we walk away from each other. More likely, it ends when one of us walks out that door.
I push those thoughts aside and focus on the here and now, like the way his mouth slants greedily over mine. I tilt my head in invitation and melt into him, shivering as his hands wander from my waist and brush under my breasts, to the slight fullness at the sides. Goosebumps follow his course up to my collarbones and neck. He finishes the journey by cradling my face so tenderly I can’t help but let out a little sigh. It’s both a plea for more and gratitude for his gentleness. He knows how to handle me, knows what I like. He even seems to know, as he slows his movements and eases up, that if this lasts any longer, I won’t be able to resist taking this further.
His last kiss lingers, somehow sweeter than the rest, and he strokes over my cheekbones with his thumbs as I slowly wake from the dream.
